


i wanna be adored

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killua and Gon sleep in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna be adored

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally just a teeth-rottingly fluffy pwp i'm not sorry though  
> aged up kirugon

You wake up slowly, languidly, with Gon's arms around your waist. It's afternoon, and of course you've slept in, because who wouldn't when everything is so soft and warm and Gon is there holding you, fingers insistent drawing circles over your spine. His eyes are half-lidded as you turn to face him, and he gives a yawn and curls into you, nuzzling his face into your shirt.

"Hey, sleepyhead, get up," you scold, your fingers resting and then threading into his hair. He's warm against your skin, forehead pressed to the dip of your throat. You hum sleepily, and he gives a breathy laugh.

"I like your hair."

"Yours isn't much better, Killua," Gon comments, muffled into your shirt.

"It's supposed to look like this. You just look like a mess with your hair unspiked."

"But you like it." He wraps his arms around the curve of your back. Your chest feels tight. "Killua. Kiss me." One of his ankles hooks around the back of your foot. It's a breath, a plea.

"Where," you breathe, against his ear.

"Anywhere-- don't care-- just kiss me, Killua, need you, love you," he's whispering, slowly, between sleepy sighs. Your hands are on the back of his neck-- he's so warm that you feel like you could burn your lips on him, the almost inhuman sort of heat in his body. He strains his head upwards, his mouth slightly open, and the sun pours over his hair; you've forgotten how amazing he looks with his hair down, a tangle of dark brown silk casting its shadow over white pillowcases.

" _Gon._ "

His name in your mouth feels so good. Almost as good as his lips between yours. When he pulls you down for the first kiss, your head is light, your vision already swimming. The soft moan you pull from his lips makes you shiver, and he entwines his legs in yours, and kissing him again feels like swallowing the sun.

"Mmm, Killua," he sighs, his words not quite catching up with how slow his mouth is moving. He runs his fingers up the buzzed back of your head, twining his fingers in silver hair, and you move up a bit, hips slotted together so that Gon groans when you do and you feel a very obvious hardness against your leg.

"Jeez," you chastise him, but really you're one to talk. "Remind me, do you own a turtleneck?"

"Nope," he breathes. "Why?"

"'Cause we're going out to dinner tonight with Alluka and if she sees the marks I'm about to leave on your neck she'll do a backflip or something."

"Let her do it," Gon says, almost impatiently, but your hands trail to the bone of his hips under the duvet and his sentence is interrupted by a low moan. " _Killua..._ "

"I'll let you borrow one of mine."

"No way, that's even more conspicuous." Gon shakes his head, then tilts it back to allow you access. You flutter over the hum he gives in his throat, feeling the vibrations on your lips; his hands are still sleepy and soft in your hair. He leans into you, sinking into your rhythm, breath matching yours until your thumb moves over a nipple and he gives a sharp gasp.

" _Killua!_ "

"Shhh," you soothe him, your lips now trailing down the center of his chest. He shudders, whimpers, and it sends a pang of sensation down your spine. You want to see his face right now so badly-- you think about the bright red flush over his tan skin, his mouth slightly open and lips wet, all fluttering eyelids and gusts of breath, and it makes something inside you twist. _God_ , you can feel him throbbing hot against your leg, and it makes you want to sink down onto him and ride him until he cries, but you won't do that, not yet. It's Sunday afternoon, it's too early and soaked in golden light for that, you can do that when the sun goes down and the only thing illuminating your room is the twinkling of the city outside.

He's like a mountain range, and you want to trace him like a topographic map, all swells and pinpoints and valleys of skin and muscle. You want to mark him up-- you want to make him a map of all the places you've taken him. Gon breathes, a long exhale as your thumbs hook under the elastic of his boxers, and you're so slow with him as you roll them off that he starts squirming.

"Killuaaaaaa," he complains, but you stop him short with a hand wrapped around him and then he's all yours. His breathing becomes short, staccato, as he pushes his hips into your hand; you stroke him long and slow and he's already covering his face in the crook of his arm. You hold him down while he rolls underneath you, a torrent of soft moans spilling from his lips.

"Killua, Killua, Killua," he repeats, a desperate refrain, his voice a register higher than usual. He bucks his hips into your hand, trying to create more friction, and you twist at the sound of your name from his lips. The sheets are lying in a tangle around your ankles, and the sun chooses that moment to emerge from under the clouds, bathing Gon's tan skin in sweet yellow light. You feel your breath disappear from your lungs. It's going to take some effort to get it back.

He bites his lip to keep the noise back, pulls at the sheets, and with a shudder, a wave of spasms, he comes hard into your hand. You let him ride it out, fingers still moving languidly until he stops squirming and starts breathing again.

"My hands," he complains, once he's coherent enough to form actual words. "They're all tingly."

"It's 'cause you're not _breathing_ properly," you retort, wiping your hand on the sheets, and regretting it as soon as you do. God damn. His heart is pounding like a taiko drum, resonating through his ribcage as you lay your head, satisfied, on his chest.

"Well it's kinda _difficult_ , ya know," Gon whines, and you can't blame him. For now you're tired, you don't need him to return the favor, not until you wake up hours later tangled in each other and it's already dark outside. You know how it's going to be. And you know you're only going to be able to get up when you're hungry. But Gon's breathing is your anchor, your metronome, and you curl against his side and sigh. Might as well sleep the whole day, at this point.

Your father once told you that being an assassin requires you to do more in five minutes than a normal person does in one day. But here, tracing your finger over the outline of Gon's lips, you've done that and more.

You've done enough, and you haven't killed anyone in the process.

 


End file.
